The main
point behind anchoring is to keep your boat reasonably fixed within
a chosen expanse of water. Something has gone wrong when
your boat and its anchor begins moving; this is called dragging. When
your boat drags at anchor and you end up on something hard, like the
shore or another boat, something has REALLY gone wrong. Most boaters
don't like to admit they have dragged at anchor. It's sort of like confessing
you just got released on parole after a serial murder conviction. While
we don't drag too often, we don't hide the fact that we HAVE dragged
on the odd occasion. When we arrive at an anchorage and glibly announce
to our immediate neighbours, "Boy, the last time we were here we
dragged halfway across the bay," we generally find everyone gives
us lots of room.

After we have admitted to the occasional anchoring debacle, we've noticed
other boaters will often confess that they, too, have dragged. It's almost
as if they have been carrying a tremendous load of guilt and are relieved
to unburden themselves of its weight. Having heard a number of these
confessions, we've come to the conclusion that just about every cruiser
has dragged at some point in his or her life. Those who claim they haven't
either haven't been cruising for very long or are suffering from some
delusional disorder.

This is not to say we like dragging. We don't. Eileen in particular
HATES dragging and will do everything humanly possible to avoid it. David
also hates dragging, but he is lazier (or a sounder sleeper) than Eileen;
when the wind pipes up in the middle of the night, it's Eileen who is
up on deck peering nervously into the darkness while David slumbers peacefully
down below. Eileen still has bad memories of a VERY squally night last
year when we dragged off Stocking Island near George Town in the Bahamas.
As it turned out, we had two anchors down and the second one stopped
us before we hit anything. Several other boats weren't so lucky and DID
end up hitting things. Although we came out of it unscathed, Eileen swore
we would not repeat the experience.

Last week we moved
the boat from Kidd's Cove -- in front of George Town -- across Elizabeth
Harbour to Stocking Island. Eileen looked warily
at the cluster of boats anchored in front of Volleyball Beach, the scene
of last year's humiliation. David said, "Let's try our new oversized
Fortress anchor this time; maybe it will work better than our old CQR." Eileen
wasn't to be easily mollified. "Let's just make sure we're not near
anyone else."

The calm before the blow: our neighbours are still a reasonable distance away

Now one of the difficulties in correctly spacing one's boat in a crowded
anchorage is foreseeing what will happen when the wind changes direction.
When we dropped the anchor in front of Volleyball Beach, it was blowing
gently from the southeast. We sought out a big patch of fine sand and
let out lots of chain. David donned his snorkelling gear and dove on
the anchor. It was nicely buried. We seemed to be equidistant from our
immediate neighbours, but we didn't know exactly where THEIR anchors
were because, under the light air conditions, their anchor rodes may
not have been stretched out.

Last Friday, the
morning weather report predicted a cold front would move through George
Town early Sunday, bringing with it, first, a shift
in wind direction, and then an increase in wind strength. Saturday afternoon,
the sailboat off our port side upped anchor and relocated a few boat
lengths further away. Perhaps they had heard about our anchoring record.
Eileen suggested, "Maybe we should move over as well. Now we seem
too close to 'Early Out'."

"Early Out" was the Gulfstar 44 parked off our starboard side.
It looked really solid; in a contest with "Little Gidding",
it seemed pretty clear who would lose. Still, David resisted, "We
don't know where we'll each lie when the wind clocks; we could re-anchor
now and then discover that we have to move again later because someone
else is too close." Eileen was not appeased. She made it clear that
she was not going to be the only one to miss a night of sleep. David
sighed and got in the dinghy and went over to have a man-to-man talk
with John on "Early Out".

It seems that John
and his wife Rachel had probably just had a very similar discussion.
He told David, "I have no problem with how close
we are at the moment, but I don't know what will happen when the wind
shifts. It seems premature to re-anchor now, especially when our anchors
have settled in really well." David immediately decided he liked
John. The two compared scopes. "Early Out" had 80 feet of chain
out; we had 140 feet. John said he would let out another 20 or 30 feet
and David agreed to take in the same. After that, we'd play it by ear.

When we woke up Sunday
morning, the wind had reversed direction, but was still very light. "Early Out" was now directly behind us
and closer than before. Our respective anchor chains were beginning to
realign themselves. We took our breakfast up to the cockpit and listened
to the morning news on the external speakers. The wind gradually got
stronger and "Early Out" gradually got closer. We had a very
nice view of its massive bow structure. Finally Eileen said, "Well,
we might as well offer John and Rachel some coffee since we can pretty
well hand it over to them."

With the wind shift the distance separating our two boats shrinks

"Early Out" had preceded our arrival at Volleyball Beach so
we decided it was our responsibility to re-anchor. Afterwards, David
dove on the anchor and determined it was buried as before. The wind continued
to build and by mid-afternoon it was blowing over 20 knots from the northeast.
A sailboat a couple of hundred yards away began to drag. As the crew
on board struggled to avoid other boats and get re-anchored, several
people called them on the radio offering helpful advice like, "that
anchor you've got isn't any good" and "that spot you picked
has the lousiest holding in the entire harbour". We didn't say anything.
We've been there.